Page 30 of Things I Overshared
I push my bag with my feet closer to the carousel, watching his large frame from behind. The guy is built. I bet he works out to relieve stress, but is he a runner? Tennis, maybe? His broad, thick shoulders imply swimming or maybe rowing. I can’t see him as a gym rat, but his butt . . . that’s some kind of StairMaster butt right there. Mmhmm.
I blush and realize what I’m doing and where I’m staring.Exhaustion! Must get coffee!
Emerson grabs my giant bags from the conveyor belt effortlessly and without my asking. He turns back to me with the cart—trolly!—and scoops to pick up my backpack. But I need to shake off these romantic knight-in-luggage-carrying-armor vibes he’s giving me.
“No, I got it.” I put out my arm to stop him. Then as he starts to grumble, I quickly throw the straps over my shoulders. “Really, Igot it!” But I sling the bag too hard and it’s too heavy. “Oh, shit,” I mutter under my breath, feeling myself tipping straight back like a freaking felled tree.
His arms are locked around me in an instant, one around my waist, one catching the strap of my backpack at my shoulder. My mind can’t sort it all; how fast he’s all around me, encompassing me, the intensity in his eyes, the sweet musk of his cologne, the feel of his hard chest against the thin cotton covering my soft curves.
As he rights us, he closes his eyes and takes a giant, exasperated inhale, jaw clenched. I am keenly aware of his aversion to me as he flattens his lips into a straight line. When he opens his eyes, all he has to do is cock his head to say,I told you so.I roll my eyes with a huff as he pulls on the bag, and I adjust to release it off my shoulders. I am too embarrassed and irked to admit he was right or thank him for catching me. Instead, I make a mad dash toward the line of cute little uniformed men with signs. I find the one that readsCanton.
“Hi! I’m Samantha Canton!” I extend my hand.
“Charles, ma’am.”
“Chaaalz!” I say in my best British accent. “Can I call you Charlie? Or Chuck? What’s your last name?”
He falters for a second, and Emerson steps up next to me. “Emerson Clark, Canton Cards.”
“Yes, sir.” Charles smiles nervously as he takes over command of our luggage trolly.
“You’re our driver for the whole stay, right, Charlie?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answers, but the way he saysma’amsounds likemomand makes me think of Hugh Grant for no real reason other than that I love Hugh Grant.
“Please, call me Sam. Even if Sir Stick in the Mud here calls me Miss Canton, he’s the only one.”
We climb into one of many waiting Mercedes town cars in a row. It’s so big and new, it feels like a limousine. I can’t contain my excitement as I slip into the plush leather seat. “I want the full tourist treatment, Charlie. I’m a first-timer. I mean, we came when I was a kid, but I don’t remember any of it, so really, any weird facts and tidbits as we drive, you got ’em, I want to hear ’em!” I ignore how Emerson puts one hand up to his forehead against his window and instead focus on the smile Charles flashes in his rear view mirror.
I keep babbling because I’m too pumped not to. “Can I connect my phone to your sound system?”
“Of course, mi— of course.” He says from up front, “It’s—”
“Oh! Is it MB1833?” I find it before he has to carry on with his instructions. “Perfect! I have a whole London playlist.” Horns from Lily Allen’s “LDN” burst out, and I squeal. I cannot help it.
“The Rosewood, please!” Emerson almost shouts over my tunes, eyes shut.
I laugh and look over at him. He looks like he has both a migraine and a stomach bug attacking him simultaneously. “I know you have noise-canceling headphones on you, boss. Just go ahead and bust ’em out. We don’t mind, do we, Charlie?”
Charles nervously eyes back and forth between the two of us, and I laugh again. Emerson shakes his head slowly and gives a sigh that I think means “I give up.” I don’t push him. I even turn my music down a bit. No one is dragging me off cloud nine right now, not as my music plays and London’s outskirts start unfolding outside my window.
During the hour-long drive, I ask one million questions and Charles offers one million happy answers. I learn that he has been a driver for ten years, after retiring from a logistics manager position for Argo’s, one of England’s big-box stores. Of course, this launches a fun conversation about our company and the purpose of our trip. Charles keeps up with genuine interest and interesting tidbits.
“Wait!I see the Ferris wheel!” I exclaim involuntarily as I spot it off in the distance. “That means Big Ben is right over there! I can’t see it, but it’s right there, right?” I look over to Emerson. He gives a nod, but Charlie responds.
“Quite right. Westminster is just there, and we’re about to pass the Buckingham Palace exit. You won’t be able to see it all, but a good deal will be off outside your window just there.” He points with a sparkle in his eye. You don’t become a professional driver if you don’t love two things: people and your city. Well, and I guess driving. I think Charles and I are going to be best friends in no time.
I hop again in my seat. “I’m just so happy to be here! I wasn’t supposed to even come on this trip, even though I planned every amazing little detail—can you believe that? But then whatdyaknow, my boss got his wife pregnant and now it’s me and Grumps here. Basically, my arch nemesis.”
Emerson’s head snaps to glare at me. I am pretty sure his eyes are commanding me to quit babbling our dirty laundry to our driver. I glare right back.Too bad!“You can call him Grumps too if you want, Charlie. He loooves that. And in case you’re worried, he’s not actually my boss. I mean, technically he’s like a super genius and third-in-command of Dad’s whole empire, and I think both Grandpa and Dad would give him their left nut if he asked.” Emerson mumbles something under his breath, and Charles’s eyes go as wide as saucers. I laugh again. “Buuuut I’m the one with the last name Canton, right? So, really, I’m in charge here, is what I’m saying.”
Charles says softly, “I have no doubt, ma’am, no doubt.”
Chapter 9
SUNDAY 11:30a.m.
Me: Look at this hotel
